Decaying Truths
by GreenHerbMaster
Summary: After Leon's trip to Europe the former members of S.T.A.R.S are trying to pick off the last pieces of the psychotic organization Umbrella when zombies come out of the woodworks.


Disclaimer: If I were as brilliant and rich as Capcom I would have owned and created Resident Evil, but alas I am but a mere mortal and own nothing but some purple socks.

A/n: I've only got the chance to play games zero through four and Code Veronica. The story will have some of Barry and Jill's version but mostly be from Chris's version from game one. And um... yup it's a few months after Leon's triumphant return from Europe, so.... yup.

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Wrapped in a large red scarf that swung carelessly around her ankles Ada watched soulfully through the window of a small suburban home at the family nuzzled around their television. The illusion of peace and safety was wrapped securely around them. They seemed to believe that no evil could cross the thin sheet rock and paint that shielded them from the outside world. She sighed, pulling her brown trench tighter around her small frame. It was one of hundreds of houses in the development, all with similar scenes of 1950's bliss playing in their cookie cutter homes. Still, she thought wistfully, watching her simple black pumps as they clicked down the sidewalk, the happy family seemed to tug at something inside her. She thought about being angry, mad that they were seemingly untouched in their cocoon of ignorance and denial. She'd seen it all torn apart so easily. But still she couldn't muster the energy for anger, there was only a deep well of solemn silence in her heart.

She nuzzled into her scarf against the biting wind, the cool January air threatening them with snow. The material was soft and warm from her skin, and gave her comfort. She could smell her own exotic perfume and it made her crimson lips lift in a grin. She was who she was, and she wasn't going to be able to have that happy little family in the suburb even if she wanted it. No four walls were going to shut her eyes to the painful truths of the world she lived in. Then again, playing the little house wife wasn't really her style anyway. She was not only good at what she did, she liked it. She wasn't content being a damsel in distress.

A soft lullaby began to sound from the inside of her little black purse. She ignored it at first, brushing shoulders on the street as she sidestepped over to a little cafe. She leaned against the archway leading to the outdoor seating area where early morning 9 to 5ers sipped their mochas and lattes before work and college students frowned over homework due in a few hours. The nearest person to her was two tables away typing furiously on a laptop. She slipped her hand inside her purse and flipped open her cellphone. "Wesker, how nice to hear from you," she cooed sweetly without hesitation. She didn't have to hesitate, he was the only one who had the number.

His tone was brisk and monotone. "Enjoying your new toy Miss Wong?"

She took out the only other item in her purse beside her lipstick. It was a small blue jewelry box that played the same lullaby her phone did. Intricate gold flames danced at the borders, seemingly pushing their way towards the small gold keyhole at the center. She smiled. "Yes, I rather am. Unfortunately Victor seemed loathed to part with it but, as you know I can be quite persuasive when I want to."

He ignored her cattiness, as she knew he would. "What is your current location?"

She glanced up at the simple green wooden sign which displayed Ves Cafe in white cursive above the door that would lead inside the small town coffee house. "I'm at a little cafe called Ves Cafe in Greenstun, about fifteen miles from Victor's office." She glanced at the waiter as he maneuvered between the tables with practiced ease. "It's a small city, but it's got it's own unique charm if you like knowing all your neighbors and having one grocery store."

She could almost picture his frown in her mind. His voice remained neutral however. "Stay where you are, they'll be a jeep along shortly to transport you and the box to the airport."

Coy of him, implying both her and the little blue box needed to be there.

"I can't wait to see you."

He'd hung up, she wasn't sure if he'd heard her last comment, she wasn't sure she cared. Wesker didn't know her well enough yet if he still thought she'd fail. Her life was dangerous, she walked a fine line where one wrong move could unravel all her careful planning and work. She had no illusions about what would happen if anyone found out the truth too soon. Illusions weren't apart of her life any longer.

The bullet shredded the little paper man, putting a small hole through first his head then his heart. Rebecca's small pink lips curved in a satisfied grin. She took a deep breath, preparing to de-man him when someone placed a large warm hand on her shoulder, squeezing slightly. She started, bringing her left arm around to knock the hand away while pointing right handed at Chris. The blood pounded in her ears as her mind fought to fight off the surge of adrenaline and bitter tasting fear. Chris put his hands up slowly, showing himself unarmed, his face serious as he studied hers. She jerked off her earmuffs, pulling the gun next to her chest quickly with a small yip. "Chris, you scared me. I'm so sorry, I don't know what to say."

He grinned, flashing two rows of perfect white teeth. He let his hands fall to his side. "Sorry to sneak up on you Rebecca, didn't think about it. I probably would have done the same thing."

No, she thought, you wouldn't have. It was nice of him to say though, trying not to make her feel bad for her mistake. She'd gotten a better feel for the small browning handgun, out on the shooting range everyday, but pointing a gun at a comrade simply for startling her was a bit much. She sighed. "I could have hurt you, you know."

His smile widened. "But then you could have patched me right up."

She tried, she really did try, not to smile, but his good humor was infectious. "Well let's just hope I won't have to."

"You know Rebecca, you're more than welcome to stay with me instead of alone in your apartment. I mean, I know Jill or any of us would be happy to have you. I don't like you staying alone."

She punched his arm lightly. "That's sweet Chris, but I'll be fine. I sleep with a gun next to the bed, and I lock my doors. Plus I'm mastering Judo, my teacher says I'm good."

When he continued to frown at her she sighed. "Look I need to keep the normal up a little bit, otherwise the whole thing is too haunting. I like my apartment."

He finally relaxed his shoulders, shrugging. "Can't say I didn't try. Listen we're going to have a meeting, we should get going."

"Any good news?"

"What are you talking about, isn't it always good news?"

She huffed. "Yeah right."

They made their way across a skyway to the meeting room. They both glanced at each other outside the door, Rebecca grinning in response to his wide smile. "Let's see what we're going to do today."

"Probably nothing fun."

He smirked, opening the door for her. They both swept the room with their eyes automatically. Ever since Arklay mountains all of them were more cautious, part of them still fearing a flesh eating teacher or blood craving gas pump attendant wandering around the coffee table. The room was off white with wide windows that practically consumed the entire walls, a u-shaped table took up most of the room, the ends pointing at two sets of stairs that led up to a small podium in front of the back window that overlooked it. The soft carpet was a faded blue, the chairs straight and wooden. Papers and pens were held in place by coffee cups and the aroma of the fresh coffee filled the room. Jill was nursing a cup near the left end, watching them patiently, waiting for them to finish their sweep. She understood since she'd done the same herself. Her short honey auburn hair fell around her face, held out of her dark brown eyes by a white baseball cap. She was wearing a blue tank top and cut off jeans, but then again it was 90 degrees outside. Her shoulder holster was resting on the back of her chair, her custom knife set and lock picks on the table next to her debriefing notes. Her small black jacket was thrown on the back of her chair as well, too hot for it but necessary to hide the guns. A small derringer handgun was on a hip holster on her left side for a cross draw. None of them walked around unarmed, and they probably wouldn't until umbrella was dead for real. The company reminded them of the zombies they created, they just wouldn't stay dead.

"Hey kiddos, take a seat," Barry motioned them in with his trusty magnum. He'd neglected to shave recently and his five o'clock shadow was threatening to turn into a beard. He was wearing snug blue jeans and a baggy white top, a green windbreaker thrown over the back of his chair. Neither Barry nor Jill were morning people, unlike Rebecca and Chris who'd been up since six. The other two were not happy.

Rebecca walked over to Jill, plopping down in the seat next to her. "Good morning."

Jill blinked and looked at Rebecca hard. Rebecca gulped and looked straight ahead, back rigid.

There were others in the room, new members that Chris didn't recognize. He tried not to think negatively on that, tried not to imagine them as cannon fodder. Once again it was a product of the incident in the Arklay mountains that cause his negative paranoia. The only people he trusted at his back anymore were Rebecca, Jill, and Barry. Wesker's betrayal had not only killed many of his close friends, it had made Chris second guess everyone's intentions. He resisted the urge to sigh, he didn't want to become cynical, and he needed to trust somebody. He placed a hand on Barry's shoulder and squeezed it as he passed, taking comfort from their presence. The four of them weren't S.T.A.R.S any longer. Now they belonged to a new resistance group. The U.R. was simply Umbrella Resistance, but the network was well founded and full of reliable honorable men. Most of them had been hurt by Umbrella's careless experimenting, and all of them were dedicated to it's downfall. The leader wasn't Chris, it was the man standing at the head of the podium. Jack Hamilton was a member of the federal bureau of investigations and the founder of the U.R. After doing some investigating for Chris Jack had taken his own interest in the suspicious pharmaceutical company and a lot of digging and some inside information from S.T.A.R.S had been enough to drive him to action. In under a decade the U.R. was a successful counter group with an intricate network of informants that all worked to bring the shady company into the light of the public. As far as most people were concerned it was already put behind them after Raccoon city and the falling out of Umbrella's stockholders, but thanks to Leon's efforts in Europe and the continued investigation of the U.R. they had considerable reason to believe that the company was far from finished.

Chris waved at Jack, pulling the chair back so when he sat down his back was to the wall. He snagged the notes in front of him and rested his feet unceremoniously on the table, grinning up at the larger man. Jack was a foreboding presence, his small dark eyes were coal black with light gray around the edges, narrowed under thick black eyebrows framing a strong face with a defined chin. He had short military cut black hair that was as dark as his eyes, but you could see in his eyes his deep intelligence, the sharp wit and quick mind. Chris mentally chastised himself, there was at least one other person in the room he trusted. Umbrella and Wesker would not turn him into a bitter cynic. He believed in his friends, and he wouldn't doubt them.

Jack frowned down at them. It wasn't personal, he just wasn't much of a smiler. "There's a weapon."

That was Jack Hamilton, straight to business. Chris glanced at the papers in his hands and waited for him to elaborate. He would in his own sweet time. Rebecca wasn't as patient. "What do you mean there's a weapon?"

He glanced sideways at her. She looked delicate to Chris with her small shoulders bare under the faded purple halter top, short chestnut hair as short as most boys. There wasn't anything fragile in the set of her frame, the shine in her greenish blue eyes. Rebecca was a strong young woman, no longer the young girl that had fought beside him in the nightmarish mansion. Jack looked around the table. "Two ex-scientist that were released from Umbrella's employment officially recently contacted one another. We've intercepted some e-mails and from what we can determine there's a weapon being developed in the south west U.S. by a group of young explosive enthusiast who are working with a retired bio chemical expert that worked at a company trying to find a cure for cancer. From what we can decipher Umbrella's head honchos are very, very interested in it."

"Why, they already have the ability to create hordes of zombies and parasites," Jill pointed out. "Why still keep searching for more weapons?"

"They can't control most of them," Barry leaned forward. "The stupid creatures just walk around until they bump into something or someone they can eat, not much use for actually initiating attacks."

"But with the parasites a more powerful person can control weaker ones right?" A face Chris didn't recognize pointed out.

"Yeah, but look how well that worked out last time, and with Saddler out of the picture and taking into account his own power hungry plans it still doesn't give them much to work with," Chris nodded at Jack. "Maybe their fed up with people and are more interested in weapons they can actually use."

Jack nodded. "That's my guess."

"If these two scientist were fired then why are they talking to each other and investigating something for Umbrella? And shouldn't the leaders not be able to operate anymore?" Another person Chris didn't know, but had seen before. Fred... Jeff? Someone whose name was supposed to be easy to remember.

Rebecca shook her head. "Umbrella had millions put away for emergencies, they were the leading company in almost the whole world in many things. They still can afford a payroll."

"Plus they had to make like they had to let everyone go so the public would think they were done," Jill added, opening and closing a small flip knife in her hand like a nervous habit. She did it the way some people tapped pencils or traced the top of their cups with their index finger.

"Those scum," Chris muttered under his breath. He wouldn't forgive them for what they'd done. Death was its own private horror, the reality of losing a life so far behind comprehension no one thinks about it. The pain, the sensation of dying was each persons customized nightmare, and the way the T-virus made them die, ended it for them, was beyond forgivable. That after everything a person endured in their lives, the hopes and personal dreams they held inside them was overshadowed as in their last moments they see a walking zombie, and carrying the knowledge that they would soon be that. Nothing could possibly be worse than knowing your body would terrorize others and take lives, so many lives in such a disgustingly horrible way. Umbrella would pay, they would pay the debt for every single last horror they'd invoked on every single individual they'd forced to die in such a terrifying way.

He jumped at a hand on his forearm. He looked over at Barry, who slid the hand away, leaning in to whisper. "Better pay attention or Jill will tan both our hides."

Chris tried to swallow his anger, trying to focus on the conversation. It was harder than it should have been, but thinking about it wasn't going to change what happened, thinking about what he was doing now could stop it from happening again.

And stopping it from happening again was the whole point wasn't it?

Rebecca locked the apartment door behind her, all three locks. She unsheathed her gun and checked the apartment thoroughly, the windows were all secure, the closets empty and open. She put on some music, more for the noise then because she wanted to listen. She set the gun on the small two seater table in front of her cheapo laptop. A few clicks revealed no important e-mails except a library overdue notice, and a glance at the answering machine showed no messages. It was a habit she'd begun and couldn't seem to break. She could admit to herself she was half expecting something from Billy, though he had no conceivable way of knowing how to contact her. The convicted convict was laying low somewhere, and as far as the world was concerned he was dead. Still, she would have liked to know he was safe. She pulled the chain around her neck and lifted the dog tags from between her breasts, where they always there. She sighed out loud, she was being ridiculous of course. He'd laugh at her, say something that would make her want to shoot him in the foot. She tucked them away again, shuffling over to the fridge. T.V. dinner or take the time to make some macaroni? Some decisions were harder than others, she thought, sliding the frozen meal into the microwave and pushing the two minute button. She turned her back to it, walking around the kitchen wall into the living room. As apartments went, hers was small but decent. She had a coffee table and a big soft chair in the middle of the room, no television to match the T.V. dinner though. Instead two large bookcase were shoved against the back wall by the door, fighting for room. She thought about snuggling down with a book, but she'd read them all at least twice. She leaned over to look at the titles. She would have to take back the library book and pick out a few more, but that meant paying the fines she'd racked up by not returning to book in the first place. She sighed again, she'd been so busy with U.R. stuff it it hadn't seemed all that important.

The microwave let off three long annoying beeps. She sniffed the air as she turned to it, frowning. Mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, and something else. Some bitter foul smell like old meat left on the counter over night. The beep was the only thing that had saved her. If she hadn't turned around to the sound of it, she might not have seen the zombie in time. Rebecca yelled, surprised as she dodged backwards. He was tall, or had been before the T-virus had stolen his life. His skin was more blue then the peach it had once been. It was wrinkled, soft, fragile as it hung loose on his form. Ragged holes where the skin and flesh had fell away, rotted away. He reached towards her, bleach white bone sticking out of one finger through brown meat. A moan escaped from his throat, eyes pupil-less and wide with blue veins, teeth yellow and brown, stained with she-didn't-want-to-know what. Desperately, hungrily he sought her with his decaying hands, scrabbling around the chair after her. A wild scream tore itself from her throat as its hands tried to latch onto her shirt, she threw herself back against the wall and kicked down the chair between them. It took a minute for it to figure out why it wasn't getting closer to her, and still he had a hard time trying to maneuver around the obstacle. Her hand went for her new browning, but it was resting on the table by the laptop. Worse yet, teetering out of the kitchen was another one. He had a clear path to her, and the other one was coming around the chair at the other side. She wanted to run to the gun, but even if she had it she wasn't sure she had enough bullets for them both. How had they even gotten inside? How had she not heard them, smelled them, or even seen them when she'd searched? They weren't smart enough to open doors, let alone pick locks. How did they even find her here?

Then she remembered, her back-up gun, in her room. She flung herself down the hall, the long fingers of the second zombie gripping her leg, digging in nails through her jeans as he caught her trying to get past him. His mouth opened wide, wider then any human mouth should. She screamed again, terrified, kicking her other leg around and connecting to his head. To her horror a sick sucking noise thrilled through the air as her foot caved in his head, blood and goop she didn't want to identify flooding over her gray sneakers, soaking up into her socks. She cried out, eyes stinging as the nauseating stench of rotting flesh and fresh blood filled the air. She looked up as the first zombie tried to throw itself on top of her, rolling and jerking her foot free, throwing small chunks of it against her clean white walls. She sobbed, scrambling to her feet, running full speed down the hall as he crawled after her. She crashed through her door, diving over the bed and pulling the drawer in her bedside table completely out, scattering earings, notepads, and her small automatic pistol across the white carpet. The dead man teetered into the room, bumping his shoulder into the wall, pale sightless eyes searching for her among the strange shapes, his nostrils flaring, mouth open wide to receive fresh meat, her meat. She should have shut the door, too late now, but it would have slowed him down. She picked up the pistol from the floor and aimed, sighting down her arm, breathing in, and firing into his left eye socket. His head snapped back with a thick wet sound, a small snap of tendons. Then he slowly lifted it back up, still coming towards her. The room was small, he didn't have far to go. She shot twice more into his chest, once near the heart, the second time she thought she'd hit home. Still he came, his hands gripping her throat, head thrown back for the strike. Rebecca's scream couldn't make it through his vice like grip, her small hands scrambling at his wrists.

His body jerked, and he paused, like he was confused. He went for the bite again when one side of his head exploded, brains splattering over her face and shoulders, his hands sliding from her neck. She coughed, wiping desperately at her face, trying to get pieces of the man... no, the zombie off of her. A half strangled frustrated cry tore itself from her lips, her limbs shaking. She looked up and in the doorway was Claire Redfield, Chris's younger sister. She had her small automatic luger pointed at the floor, light blue eyes wide, staring dumbfounded. She wasn't the one who'd rescued Rebecca, it was the young girl, no woman beside her. A small bob of yellow hair framed big deep blue eyes, which were currently wide with disbelief. Her light blue sun dress reached her knees, black pumps gave her maybe an inch more to add to her five foot five. Sherry Birkin had grown into a pretty young girl with a cute pixie face and full pink lips. Her small colt was smoking from the barrel where it was still pointed at Rebecca, her finger next to the trigger as she held a two handed shooter's stance.

Claire was in a green t-shirt with a white winking smiley face on it, black shorts, and black combat boots that took nothing from her long legs. Her soft brown hair foamed down her back. She started to move towards Rebecca but she stopped her by holding up her hand. "Wait, wait let's make sure it's really dead." She leaned down next to it, inspecting it, trying not to think of it as a him. How had it gotten inside? That was the hundred and twenty dollar question.

She looked up at Claire and fought back tears. They weren't supposed to come into her home, it wasn't fair, it was like cheating.

Claire hurried over, Sherry at her side, still a little shocked. As far as Rebecca knew Claire had only taught her how to use a gun at the shooting range out of a desire for her to learn to protect herself. She didn't think Sherry had ever actually shot anyone. Claire had adopted Sherry after rescuing her from Raccoon city, though they were more like sisters. Sherry's parents had been scientists employed by Umbrella, and had died during the incident. That was all Rebecca knew, other then they had developed the G-virus, the more advanced version of the T-virus.

Claire hugged her. "Come on, we have have to get out of here."

"How did you know to come?" Rebecca whispered. She was suddenly very tired, looking at the mess on her floor, the smell clouding the room. She tried not to breath it in. She couldn't come back, and it hurt. She'd liked her little apartment, the small walls, and the feeling of independence. But now, now she would never feel safe here again.

"Chris said he was worried about you being alone so I finally said I'd see if you wanted to hang out with Sherry and I," she looked at the zombie and Rebecca saw her fear, the horror of the past just behind her eyes. It had been a long time since they'd seen one, and it was bringing memories they'd all tried very hard to bury. Claire had lost someone important to her to the monsters.

"How did they find her Claire?" Sherry gripped the older girls arm, shying away from the mess of a man on the floor. Her voice was breathy with fear, eyes shimmering.

"I don't know, I don't understand it at all," she shook her head. "Right now we have to get out of here in case there are more, come on."

She stood, and the other two followed suit. Claire grabbed Rebecca's arm after she'd bent to retrieve the pistol. She holstered it and said. "My brownings on the kitchen table."

Claire nodded, heading out the door with her in tow. Sherry trailed behind, gun tight in her hand, like it was the only solid thing. The other zombie was still on the floor; Rebecca avoided looking at it. Only when she remembered it did she feel the cold wetness in her shoe, hear the squish as she stepped. She shuddered. The music played in the background and Rebecca knew why she hadn't heard them. She forced herself to calm down, searching the room, trying to find their point of entry, or hiding spot. Her laundry closet was torn open, the thin doors hanging loose on the bolts. Someone had left them in there, and when they'd realized she was outside the door they'd broken through to get to her. She fished into her shirt, gripping Billy's name tags. Someone had played a very dangerous game of hide and seek with her, and it had nearly cost her life.

All three of them rode Claire's motorcycle, Sherry in the sidecar and Rebecca gripping Claire's waist as the maniac saw fit to weave through traffic at 10 over the posted speed limit. Why did the sister of a cop break so many traffic laws? Wasn't that against the rules? She tried not to yip as Claire took a turn that Rebecca for one thought put them too close to the dark asphalt. It was dark out, around ten at night, and traffic was thankfully beginning to thin. They were on route to Chris's, eyes searching for any signs of other zombies. You know, screaming civilians, fires, mass terror, the works.

Sherry had a blind faith in Claire's homicidal driving skills, one that Rebecca couldn't muster. Her grip was tight on Claire's thin waist, her heart raging for the second time that night. Wasn't she a little to close to that car? Rebecca thought she was a little to close to the car. Oh god she ran a yellow light, she was going to die, not from zombie or gun but from a violent crazy motorcyclist accident. And if she did survive the accident she'd kill Claire, and if she didn't she'd haunt her.

She moaned. "Are we there yet?" Claire didn't hear her so she tried screaming it. Claire just nodded, and that made her doubt she'd heard her at all. They pulled up to Chris's home, the little pale green house was the only house on the lot with an overgrown lawn and backed up gutters. They parked outside in time to see a zombie fly through the upstairs window and land a few yards from them, his neck bent sideways from the impact, arm broken at an awkward angle. Barry peeked his head out, looking at the three girls. "Chris did it."

Chris's voice from somewhere inside. "I'm a little tied up, pick another scapegoat!"

"God you think he'd never killed one before," Barry muttered, moving inside. Presumably to help Chris.

There were several crashes that would have been comical if you could ignore the reality of what was happening. Claire hopped off her bike and rushed inside to help her brother, gun already drawn. Rebecca's blood was still pounding in her ears but she stumbled of the killing machine, looking around the street. No one was around, so no one would see the zombie, or what they would think of as a body. The wild grass hid him mostly so maybe no one would notice, right? Shoot.

Sherry and her started heading into the house as gunshots rang out when they heard a shout. They both turned, Rebecca's gun already in hand, Sherry still drawing hers. Jill jogged up, looking frightened, a large gash on her arm, breathing deeply. Rebecca ran up and hugged her, pulling back to look at the injury. "Jill what happened?" Though she thought she already knew.

"The T-virus, two zombies hiding in my house," she looked fierce. "I was searching the rooms and I heard them in my closet." She looked at Chris's house. "I shotgunned them through the doors but missed one. Rebecca..." She looked at Rebecca, fearful. "It came at me with a knife Rebecca, it sliced my arm and screamed in my face before I shot a hole through his chest."

She felt her eyes widen. "They can't use weapons, or at least I don't think so. They never have before." But looking at the wound there was no mistaking it for anything but a knife wound.

"It was one of them, but it used a weapon," Jill shook her head, clutching at her arm below the wound. "Are Chris and Barry alright?"

"Yes, they had zombies in their house as well."

Jill looked at Rebecca hard, eyes flicking to the blood staining her clothes. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Rebecca shook her head. "Not physically anyway. Come on, let's check on the boys."

She glanced at the zombie in the lawn, lying there like a sick zombie garden decoration, something you'd see there at Halloween. None of them thought Halloween was much fun anymore. She looked at the window. "Which one threw it through the window?"

"Barry."

"Ah," was all she said in response.

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A/n: Chapter 2 is already being worked on so if you didn't hate it completely I'd like some reviews pretty please, so I know it doesn't suck. Thanks.


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